


A Wakemeet Carol

by AliciaSinCiudad



Category: A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Inspired by a comment on ThePilot's fic, M/M, Probably best not to read this, This is absolutely ridiculous, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 07:14:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13230666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliciaSinCiudad/pseuds/AliciaSinCiudad
Summary: General Davits Draven has no Wakemeet Spirit. Then he is visited in the night by various Force Ghosts, who show him the error of his ways...The Christmas Carol crossover that no-one asked for.





	A Wakemeet Carol

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thepilot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepilot/gifts).



> I'm tagging this as SniperPilot Winter, because while it doesn't go with any of the specific prompts, it goes with the general theme of Week Two: Holiday Traditions.

They had been snowed in for days, and everyone was getting antsy. Even Princess Organa’s bickering with Captain Solo was starting to seem less like the most obnoxious flirting in the galaxy and more like actual fighting. Sabacc had been unofficially banned after a low level brawl had broken out over a particularly high-stakes game. The only two holofilms in Echo Base had already been screened multiple times. The Rebels were running out of things to do, and they were getting dangerously bored.

It was the Princess who suggested holding a Wakemeet celebration. While it was nowhere close to the actual date of Wakemeet, the frigid temperatures and abundance of ice on Hoth simulated the winters of Barseg, and honestly, if they didn’t find something to latch onto, half the troops would be dead at each other’s hands within the week. She managed to rope Senator Mothma into helping her plan the celebration (Mothma did love to plan, after all, as long as she didn’t have to do any of the heavy lifting herself). Several top leaders of the Brass were summarily roped into doing said heavy lifting. But General Davits Draven absolutely refused.

“You have no Wakemeet Spirit,” the Princess told him half-pityingly.

“It’s not Wakemeet.”

“All the more reason to need spirit.”

“Bah, humbug,” Draven muttered, and went off in search of a decent cup of caf.

 

That night, Draven dreamt he was visited by Saw Gerrera. Draven hadn’t seen him for quite some time, but he was still shocked by Gerrera’s appearance. Bedraggled, half-machine, covered in chains and tubes and all manner of apparatus that seemed to be just barely holding him together. He held some sort of breathing mask to his face, took a deep breath, then glared at Draven.

With a start, Draven remembered that Gerrera was dead. Had _been_ dead for over a year.

“Draven. You have no Wakemeet Spirit.”

“I’m not Barsegi. And it’s not Wakemeet.”

“All the more reason to need Wakemeet Spirit.”

“Aren’t you dead?”

“Yes. Because I didn’t have enough Wakemeet Spirit.”

“I thought you died when NiJedha was destroyed by the Death Star.”

“Which it wouldn’t have been, if we’d all had enough Wakemeet Spirit.” Gerrera took another deep breath of whatever was in his mask.

“You are even stranger than I remember. What’s in that breathing apparatus anyway?”

“…Wakemeet Spirit?”

“Right.” Draven gave his dead ex-soldier-in-arms a skeptical look.

“Anyway,” Gerrera continued, undisturbed. “You are ruining your life, and you will turn out a crazy old coot like me if you don’t change your ways. For the next three nights, you will be visited by three Force Ghosts, and they will give you three final chances to change your ways, before you become irrevocably stodgy and The Worst.”

“Right,” Draven repeated. It seemed the safest thing to say.

“You doubt me.”

“Gerrera. Everyone doubted you. You were an extremist.”

“I got things done.”

“You nearly killed the defector who saved the Rebellion.”

“I didn’t say I got _good_ things done.”

Draven rolled his eyes. “So who are these Force Ghosts? And why are they visiting me? I’m not even Force Sensitive.”

“Don’t worry about it, they’re just narrative devices anyway.” Gerrera took another deep drag from his breathing mask, and smiled serenely.

“Can I try some of that Wakemeet Spirit?” Draven asked. He couldn’t help but notice how much more relaxed Gerrera seemed than he had been in life, and Draven’s supply of Corellian brandy was running low.

“No. I’m just an illusion.” Gerrera snapped his fingers, and Draven suddenly woke up.

He definitely needed something to do before he went completely crazy.

 

 

Over the next three nights, Draven had strange dreams.

The first night, he dreamt that the Force Ghost of Wakemeet Past brought him to a blessedly warm desert. There was a whiny young man that somehow reminded Draven simultaneously of the Princess, the hotshot pilot Skywalker, and of all things, _Darth Vader_ , complaining to a young woman with elaborate hair.

“I don’t like Wakemeet Spirit,” the young man grumbled. “It’s course and rough and irritating, and it gets everywhere.”

“You are thinking of glitter, Annie,” the elaborately-haired woman replied.

The young man pouted in response, then continued to whine about Wakemeet, the Jedi Council, and sand.

After an interminable five or so minutes of this, the Force Ghost of Wakemeet Past turned to Draven. “That whiny young man became a powerful Sith lord, all because he didn’t have enough Wakemeet Spirit. Now he makes terrible puns and kills people. You don’t want to end up like him, do you?”

Before Draven could respond, the Force Ghost snapped her fingers, and Draven awoke.

 

The second night, the Force Ghost of Wakemeet Present brought Draven to the hangar, where he observed the defector pilot, Rook, repairing a damaged U-Wing. Rook was clearly exhausted, as he kept rubbing his arm over his face – or were those tears he was wiping away? Come to think of it, his yawns sounded an awful lot like mournful sighs. That obnoxiously spunky rebel, whose father was a traitor and the cause of uncountable deaths, sat down next to Rook.

“What’s wrong?” she asked him.

Rook sighed even more forlornly. “It’s nearly Wakemeet, one of the few connections I have left to Jedha, and I can’t even share it with anyone, because everyone’s too busy working.”

“I’m sorry, Bodhi. I can celebrate with you.”

“No, I understand, you have to go write your fiery speeches to get people energized, so we can go on more unsanctioned missions and save the day, preferably while pissing off certain generals who ordered certain conflicted and dead-inside captains to kill certain father-figures we may or may not have in common.”

Erso nodded sagely. “It’s true, I really should get back to writing my latest fiery speech. But I’m sure certain conflicted-but-no-longer-dead-inside captains would love to celebrate with you.”

Rook sighed even _more_ forlornly. “Alas, he cannot, as certain generals keep certain captains so busy that we haven’t even seen each other all week. At this rate, I’ll never build up the courage to tell him how I feel…”

“Just to be sure, we are talking about feelings for the captain, and not the general, correct?”

“Yes, I could never fall in love with that general. He has no Wakemeet Spirit at all.”

“True, true,” Erso agreed, nodding sagely. “I am not even from a planet that celebrated Wakemeet, but I still would never fall in love with someone so deficient in the Wakemeet Spirit department. It is pretty much a deal-breaker.”

Draven couldn’t shake the feeling that they were just possibly talking about him.

“Yes,” the Force Ghost of Wakemeet Present said gravely. “They _are_ talking about you.”

“How did you know what I was thinking?” Draven asked with a start.

“This is a dream, you Bantha-Brain,” the Force Ghost replied disdainfully, then snapped their fingers, and Draven awoke.

 

The third night, the Force Ghost of Wakemeet Future took him to a planet called _Earth_ , and an older woman with a striking resemblance to the Princess blew a handful of glitter at him while shouting “Wakemeet Spirit!” over and over again. Draven turned to the Force Ghost, perplexed.

“Just go with it,” the Force Ghost replied, shrugging. “She’s kind of magic, and anyway, she does what she wants.”

Draven nodded silently, eyes wide in awe, as he found himself feeling lighter, happier, filled with what could only be described as…

 

The next morning was the day of the Fake Wakemeet Party. (Draven was kicking himself for not thinking of the name Fakemeet earlier.) Draven felt a jolt of déjà vu as the Princess blew glitter into young Skywalker’s face, and Skywalker whined about glitter being irritating and getting everywhere. Then he saw Rook, forlornly fixing up a slightly damaged U-Wing. Young Erso sat next to him.

“What’s wrong, Bodhi?” she asked.

Rook sighed. “It’s nothing, Jyn. It’s just… Cassian’s so busy lately, I hardly see him. At this rate, I’ll never get a chance to tell him…”

“Tell me what?” Andor asked, suddenly materializing by their sides.

“N-nothing.” Rook blushed.

Erso sighed exasperatedly. “Force, Bodhi, if you don’t tell him, I will!”

“Tell me what?” Andor repeated, his eagle eyes far too soft for Draven’s liking.

“I just… I just wanted to say… um… Happy Wakemeet!” Rook kissed Andor on the cheek and then scurried away. Andor turned, and happened to catch Draven’s eye. Draven just shrugged.

“Bah, humbug!” he muttered, and went off in search of a decent cup of caf.


End file.
